


Long Time No See

by Poppelganger



Series: To Us, 2000 Years Later [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Mental Breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 10:05:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4475291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poppelganger/pseuds/Poppelganger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean is dreading the day that Marco finally remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Time No See

For Jean, time seems to move slowly, almost leisurely, carrying him through a second chance in a strange world. 

He thinks he’s always known somehow.  It’s not that he remembered everything from day one, but he never told anyone about the dreams, so no one ever told him that’s all they were.  It would have been easy to brush it all off as he got older, a child’s vivid imagination of giants and medieval kingdoms, but he met Eren pretty early on, and then most of the other former trainees, and reasoned that there was something to it. 

It was weird to be the only person who knew what was going on.  Whenever they met up for lunch on the weekend, everyone would gather around him at the table asking, “So what was I like back then?  What happened after the Wall fell?  Did we make it back from that one?  What did the giants look like?”  Eren has this gut feeling that tells him he’s not crazy.  Sasha was a little hesitant to talk about it at first, but once Connie roped her in, telling her that they weren’t the only ones having those weird dreams, she started to really get into it.  Mikasa remembers nothing until someone says a certain word or phrase— _“That happened in Ragako, right?”_ Eren had said once—and then her eyes widen and her face drains of color as the memory plays before her eyes, rushing back all at once. 

Armin doesn’t come around anymore, but Jean suspects he remembers most of it, which might actually be why he doesn’t.  Jean had trouble looking Eren in the face for a little while at first, too, because he kept seeing the titan instead, and it scared the shit out of him.

They haven’t found track of everyone despite actively searching through social networking sites and keeping an eye open around town—most notably, Annie, Reiner and Bertolt have been next to impossible to track down, which can only mean they’re trying very hard not to be found.  But for those who have decided to remember and reunited to piece together a shared story a couple millennia old, the companionship is a source of comfort.  Jean, in particular, feels better being able to see everyone again, to be able to talk to them and touch them, to give Connie shit when he says something stupid and laugh at Eren’s outbursts.

There’s just one thing missing.

Just one person.

Of course, there are plenty of people missing, but if Jean had to go the rest of his life never knowing what happened to any of the others, he could bear it.  There’s just one person he devotes his time to trying to find, just one person whose name he’s searched on every social network he has access to.

It just so happens that he’d find him again when he’s not looking, crossing paths completely by accident. 

Eren is sitting across from Jean facing the door of the diner, so he sees him first.  He stops talking mid-sentence, eyes widening, and Jean is about to ask him what’s wrong when the rest of the table goes quiet, too.  He looks back over his shoulder, and time seems to stop.

The young man who just came into the diner is fairly tall, hair parted down the middle, freckles lightly dusting his face, looking like he stepped right out of Jean’s dreams and into reality.  Jean doesn’t even realize what he’s doing when he pushes past a complaining Sasha to get out of the booth, stumbling to the front of the diner and meeting the man’s gaze.

Those eyes meet his easily, almost too easily, Jean feels, for how long it’s been and how much he’s worried.  He realizes he’s staring by the nervous smile that stretches across the other’s face and the break in eye contact as he glances around the diner. 

Jean wets his lips and tries to force words out, managing a pathetic, “Hey.” 

No recognition. 

No, “Long time no see, Jean!” 

The other’s eyes are completely blank.  “Uh, hey?”  He’s not just uncertain; he’s completely oblivious.  He has no idea who Jean is.

“Sorry, man, thought you were someone else,” Jean lies, even adding an awkward laugh at the end.

Marco Bott laughs, too, with a smile that has been haunting Jean since he can remember, and says, “Oh, okay,” and the moment’s over as he walks over to the counter to order something.  Jean numbly returns to his seat, instantly assaulted by curious whispers.

“Is that him?” Eren hisses, “Is that Marco?”

“Did he recognize you?” Mikasa asks.

Jean doesn’t answer, eyes trained on the table and thoughts all over the place.  He knows now.  He knows that Marco exists in the present.  It still feels like the world has stopped spinning, like time has stopped moving, like his entire life has come to a grinding halt as he tries to understand.  Marco is here.  He’s alive, and he’s here.

All of the questions stop abruptly again, and Jean only notices because he feels someone looking at him, and glances up to find Marco standing by their table, smiling sheepishly.  “You guys have room for one more?” he asks, “I wouldn’t bother you, but they’re kind of busy today.  I don’t think any other tables are open.”

Jean doesn’t freeze up this time, acting the moment Marco stops talking.  “No problem, we’ve got room,” he says, scooting over as much as physically possible to allow Sasha room to move.  Marco flashes another smile full of gratitude and sits down with his tray. 

“Thanks,” he says, “I’m Marco, by the way.”

“Jean.”

Everyone introduces themselves one by one and Eren starts a conversation, but Jean isn’t paying attention.  He’s focused on Marco’s face, his eyes moving from person to person at the table as he tries to commit their names to memory.  Marco is meeting all of them for the first time; he remembers absolutely nothing.

A wave of relief washes over Jean, and he feels like time starts to move again.

*

Marco slides seamlessly into their social circle, almost naturally, like he was meant to be there.

When they get organized to see a movie, Marco is there.  When they meet at the library to study for finals, Marco is there.  When break rolls around and none of them are leaving town, they run to the store together to get supplies for Smash Bros night at Connie’s, and Marco is always there. 

“We need salsa,” Sasha insists, “It’s a crime against nature to eat chips without salsa.”

“Salsa’s fine,” Connie says tiredly, “But we don’t need ten jars of it.”

Sasha glances down at the containers in her arms and frowns.  “ _You_ might not,” she says, “But _I_ do.”

Mikasa comes around the corner from the next aisle over with a bottle of margarita mix asking, “Did they choose yet?”

“They settled on chips and salsa,” Marco answers with a laugh, “It’s just down to how much salsa Sasha can consume by herself versus how much we’re willing to spend on salsa.” 

Jean is supposed to be mediating the salsa dispute but he’s distracted, eyes straying to Marco every now and then to watch his expression.  Months have gone by with no indication that Marco remembers anything, and Jean is fine with that.  More than fine, actually.  But he’s nervous of every little thing, flinching when Eren jokes that the salsa container Sasha chooses as a compromise is “titan-sized.”  He’s worried that Marco’s memory might be a bit like Mikasa’s; that just the right word will remind him of everything.

Mikasa is tough in this life, too, but once, she’d gone white as a sheet and passed out, and after that, she locked herself in her dorm for five days and didn’t talk to anyone.   When Eren came to visit with notes from one of the lectures she’d missed, he managed to coax her out.  She was disoriented, unable to tell what year it was and confusing her life two thousand years ago with her life now.  She’d closed the blinds and hung a towel over the window, insisting that she needed it there so the titans would just walk by.  She was like that for almost a week longer before they could convince her that her parents were still alive and everything was okay.

“Fiiiine,” Sasha huffs, “Four _tiny_ jars of salsa it is.”

“Finally,” Mikasa says, rolling her eyes, “Let’s go before everything else thaws out in the cart.”

Marco glances at Jean, smile dropping as he comes closer.  “Are you okay?” he asks, lowering his voice so the others can’t hear, “You’re usually a lot more talkative.”

Jean feels all of his worry melt away at the sound of Marco’s gentle voice and smiles in reassurance.  “I’m fine,” he says, “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

Jean reminds himself to breathe.  “Lots of stuff.”

Marco raises a brow looking skeptical—god, it makes him look really hot, too—and shrugs, letting it go for now. 

Jean watches his back as he walks with the others to the register, assuring himself that everything is fine, everything’s going to be fine.  Marco doesn’t remember anything, and if he hasn’t by now, he probably won’t.  It’ll be fine.

Time is moving, but it’s starting to speed up.  Jean tries to stay in control.

*

Jean nearly has a heart attack when Marco comes to sit with them between classes in the library with a solemn expression.  “Guys, there’s something important I wanted to tell you,” he says, and Jean goes into a panic.  Is he having dreams?  Is he thinking he’s met them before?  Does he remember the titans, the battle at Trost, the way he died?

“We haven’t really known each other all that long, I guess, but I feel really close to you guys,” he continues, and he looks so uncomfortable, “So I wanted you to know something.”  He takes a deep breath; Jean is holding his.  “I’m actually gay.”

“What, that’s all?” Eren scoffs, “I thought you were gonna tell us you killed someone and needed help burying the body.”

“Eren, what the hell?” Sasha asks, shaking her head.

“We’re still cool, Marco,” Connie says, attempting to return the conversation to where it needs to go, “Nobody here has a problem with that, or with you.”

Marco glances at each of them.  “Really?”

“Really, man.  It’s not like we're all straight, you know.  Jean and Eren are both bi.”

Jean can almost hear his heart beating in his ears when Marco looks at him shyly.  “I have a preference towards guys, though,” he says, smiling, and relishes the pink blush that spreads across Marco’s face.

Temporarily, he forgets about his worries, because he’s ecstatic that Marco trusts them enough to reveal something so personal, that he really feels like he’s part of the group, just like before.

But it still lingers in the back of his mind, weighing down on his shoulders, lingering in Marco’s smile and haunting their every encounter.

Jean wants to believe it’s a matter of “if” rather than “when,” but he has nothing to go on.

*

“You don’t smile enough,” Marco tells him one Friday afternoon when they’re on Jean’s couch watching a terrible B-movie on Netflix, all the lights turned out, sharing a bag of snack crackers and a blanket.  Jean asks him what he means and finds Marco averting his gaze, blushing again.  “You have a nice smile,” he says quietly.

“What?” Jean asks, even though he heard him fine. 

Marco’s lips tighten into a pout.  “I-I said you have a nice smile,” he stammers.

Jean shakes his head.  “Nah,” he says softly, moving closer until their faces are almost touching, “Yours is nicer.”

Marco laughs breathlessly, meeting Jean halfway to press his lips against his.

Jean starts to cry.

“Jean?”  Marco pulls away the second he notices, eyes filled with worry, “Jean, what’s wrong?”

He knows he looks ridiculous, and he doesn’t want to cry in front of Marco, but he can’t seem to stop.  He wipes at his eyes and tries to breathe deeply, but he shudders.  Marco wraps his arms around him, and when Jean tries to explain it away, he just cries harder.

He’s waited so long for this.  Two thousand years, an entire lifetime, half of another, and all of the time in between.  He’s waited for it, longed for it, pined for it, and now everything he’s ever wanted is right in front of him.  He holds on tight to Marco, determined to never, ever let go of him.

“Jean?” Marco asks again.

Jean takes another shaky breath.  “I’m okay,” he mutters, “I’m okay.”

_You’re okay._

*

Jean is just waiting, with baited breath, for the other shoe to drop. 

Yesterday, they’d been climbing trees at the park, and Mikasa had gotten this odd smile on her face, saying, “This kind of feels like being a trainee again.”

Marco had heard her, and Jean is certain he didn’t imagine him going rigid for a second, frozen where he was perched, expression becoming distant.  It was over in an instant, after Eren fell from the branch he was leaning on and they all climbed down to make sure he didn’t break something.

But after that, Marco would space out occasionally, looking lost in thought, and Jean wondered if he was trying to remember something. 

“Marco,” he calls from the kitchen, making a bowl of macaroni for lunch and getting nervous when the other gets quiet, “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he hears, and turns to find Marco smiling at him.  But there’s still just a shadow of doubt there, a hint of uncertainty. 

 _Don’t,_ Jean thinks desperately, _there’s nothing worth remembering.  Stay here with me.  Don’t do it.  Don’t go._

_Don’t leave me here._

*

Game night rolls around again, and Mikasa and Connie are the only two left from the Smash Bros tournament, gazing intently at the screen.  “You’re gonna lose,” Sasha taunts from behind Connie, “You’re gonna looooooose.”

“Shut up,” Connie growls, button mashing even more furiously.

Jean rolls his eyes, but he glances over at Marco when he moves to get up.  “I’m gonna get a drink,” he says, “Want anything?”

“I’m good, thanks, babe.”

He turns his attention back to the heated match on the TV, but listens to Marco’s soft footsteps padding into the kitchen before the sound of glasses clinking and the faucet being turned on.  “How long is this final showdown going to last?” Eren asks, “The rest of us want to play again, too, you know.”

“It lasts until I win, or Connie concedes defeat,” Mikasa says without looking away from the screen.

Connie scoffs.  “Fat chance.”

“Dude, just give up,” Eren says, “This has been going on for at least ten minutes, and you’ve spent most of it running to the other side of the stage from her.”

“Shut up, Eren, I got this.”

“You _don’t_ got this.”

“Mikasa’s even using Yoshi,” Sasha says unhelpfully.  Connie makes a strangled sound of rage as his character nearly goes flying off the screen, barely managing to regain control. 

“Just get it over with,” Eren says, “Eat him and spit him back out over the edge.”

A glass shatters in the kitchen and everything stops.

_Eat him._

Connie and Mikasa drop their controllers, Sasha freezes with one hand in the chip bag, and Jean jumps to his feet, facing the kitchen.  Marco is staring at the floor wide-eyed, looking surprised.  “Oh,” he says quietly, as if he just noticed the glass, “Oh, geez.  Connie, I am so sorry, I just…it must have just slipped out of my hand.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Connie is halfway to saying as Jean nearly vaults over the couch to help him clean it up. 

“You okay?” he asks, and Marco smiles sheepishly. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, “Guess I zoned out there for a second.  I’m not usually so careless; must be tired.”

“You wanna go home?”

Marco smiles appreciatively and nods.  “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” 

Jean sees it, though; he sees the shadows of the past looming out from behind his bright eyes, haunting the corners of his smile, plaguing him with uncertainty.  He moves quickly, helping Marco dispose of the glass and saying goodbye to the others, one hand wrapped possessively around Marco’s waist.

 _You can’t have him,_ he tells the ghosts of a war fought long ago, _You can’t have him!!_

*

The ghosts whisper back, _He is already ours._

*

Jean wakes up to screaming.

Marco’s back is against the headboard, clutching his head, and he’s screaming.

“Marco,” Jean calls, embracing him, “Babe, what’s wrong?”

He already knows.  Even though Marco never tells him, he already knows.  Marco screams and screams and screams, and when his throat is raw and his voice is little more than a hoarse rattle, he starts to cry, convulsing with silent sobs. 

Time has stopped again, right when it needs to move the most.

“It’s okay,” Jean tells him, pulling him close to his chest, “It’s okay, Marco, it’s okay.”

Marco says something, hisses it under his breath, full of fear.  Jean has to strain his ears to catch the words.  “…here…it’s here…it’s here…it’s here…it’s going to eat me….”

“Nothing’s here,” Jean insists, “It’s just you and me.”

“It’s here,” Marco sobs, “Jean, it’s…it’s here….”

The terrible, crushing weight of helplessness bears down on Jean’s shoulders.  He feels tears rising to the surface but he fights them, buries them beneath the soil of a hardened soldier’s courage, and he rests his head on top of Marco’s.

“Nothing and no one is going to hurt you,” he says quietly, and he doesn’t know if Marco is listening, if he can even hear him, but he keeps talking anyway, “I’m not gonna leave your side.  Not this time.”  Marco continues to wander through his waking nightmare, shrieking, clutching Jean as though drowning, and Jean continues to tell him that everything will be okay.  Only the first rays of daybreak streaming through the curtains finally chase the memories away, letting him fall still in Jean’s arms.

Still, Jean doesn’t let go.

*

Jean makes breakfast; a heap of pancakes, a couple scrambled eggs and sizzling strips of bacon, more toast than either of them will be able to finish.  He creeps back up the stairs, hoping Marco hasn’t woken yet, and finds he’s just in time; he opens the door and finds the other boy yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

“Good morning,” he says, smiling cautiously.  He sets a plate down in front of him tentatively, as though it’s a peace offering.

Marco doesn’t even look at it, eyes fixed on Jean even though they’re half-lidded and foggy.  “Jean,” he says tiredly, “Jean Kirstein,” and there’s something different about the way he says it now, something a little more familiar.  Marco puts his face in his hands for a minute, taking a deep breath.  “Jean Kirstein from the 104th trainees squad.”

Jean is glad he put the breakfast down already because he would have dropped it on the floor otherwise.  His smile falls, expression apprehensive.  “Marco…you don’t have to….”

“I died.”  Marco looks down at his own hands as though truly seeing them for the first time.  “It feels so strange, saying that, but I know it happened.  I remember.  I remember all of it.”  He smiles up at Jean, and Jean feels his breath catch in his throat.  It’s the same; it’s exactly the same.  The recognition is there; the feeling is there.  Marco’s eyes meet his.  “Long time no see,” he says.

Jean feels himself starting to tear up and clumsily wipes at his eyes.  “Don’t,” he snaps, “Don’t just say shit like that all of the sudden.”

Marco laughs.  “Sorry.  I just felt like I had to.”  He looks down at the bed sheets, blushing a bit as he brings his knees up to his chin.  “You know, I…had the biggest crush on you.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.  I just thought there was no way you felt the same.”

Jean takes a deep breath.  “How long?”

Marco shrugs.  “Back when we were all still falling on our faces trying to use the 3DM gear.”

They both chuckle at the memory; there’s no such device in this time, no need for it, but Jean thinks that if he found himself strapped into it again, his body would remember what to do.  “I can’t believe this,” he mutters, “You’re telling me we were both pining after each other for two thousand years thinking the other person didn’t like us back?”

Marco just smiles.

Jean can’t help himself; he crawls into bed and kisses him. 

The breakfast plate gets dumped on the bedroom floor and forgotten at some point, but neither of them remember it until much later.

*

Time moves, not necessarily very quickly or slowly, and Jean enjoys every moment. 

**Author's Note:**

> Wellllllllllllllll this is a series now. 
> 
> I don't know what I'm doing really but that's okay.


End file.
